


Asylum

by yourmothersmeatloaf



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Insanity, Love?, Murder, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourmothersmeatloaf/pseuds/yourmothersmeatloaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave loses any sense of feeling he may have had. He has a chance to win back emotion-- good emotion but it is up to him to take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I guess you could say that the first time anyone noticed something was wrong was when I was seven. The housekeeper had found me behind the house (after nearly an hour of search), burning bugs. The burning carcasses of lesser life forms were always so much more interesting than the voices yelling my name.  
"David! Did you not hear us calling for you?" She asked me. My brother watched from behind her, shaking his head. As if he was better than me. As if that was what he thought.  
"Yes I did. I did not wish to come." I answered her. That angered her. I was punished for that.  
The next time something happened the punishment was much more severe. I was caught shaving our dog. They asked what I was doing as if it was not already obvious. They asked why I did it. As if that wasn't obvious either. Winter was approaching. My outdoors dog was quite in the way if you asked me. He would freeze sooner without fur.  
My parents questioned what kind of monster they brought into this world, wondering where they went wrong. They assured themselves that it was not their fault, as my brother was still perfect. Surely it was a fault on my part.  
The next time was the last time. It was after school. I followed him home as always. I was fifteen, I could walk home by myself. But I followed him, I always did. My brown eyes followed him closely, watching. Waiting for a mistake that never came! He would have to make a mistake eventually. But he never did.  
Day after day I followed him home. Watching from a few paces back.  
I guess in the end the only mistake he made was crossing me.  
I looked down an alleyway and gasped. "Dirk look!" I cried before running down between the two buildings. I heard him following hurriedly. Once we were there, just the two of us, I managed to corner him.  
"Dave?" He sounded scared. I can merely imagine the historical twinkle of madness he must have seen in my eyes. I pulled a knife on him. Held it to his throat. I felt him swallow and I was sure he felt the blood it cost him. "What is this?" His voice was raspy and no longer the sweet, thick sound of audible honey. I liked him like that.  
"They all think you are so much better than me. I bet you do too. I am going to kill you. I am sick of you standing in my way, blinding people from my perfection. I am sick of it! Now tell me Dirk," I drawled his name. "Do you think you are better than me?"  
"I will die either way. I am not going to lie. Yes. I am better than you and I will die better than you."  
I will never forget the red-tinted smile I saw on his face as I stabbed through his neck and pulled down on the knife. His blood was on my clothes. It was a prize. A sign of honor. I soon pushed open the door to my home, shared with people never around or observant enough to realize that I was the better son. It had always been me.  
My mother had been sewing on the chair in the den while my father wasn't in the room.  
"I'm home," my voice sounded dead.  
"Where is your brother?" My mother asked me. I couldn't help the smile that passed over my features. The smile was infectious, it felt good. I wanted more. The smile turned into a laugh. She still wasn't looking at me. I wanted her to look at me...no. I wanted her to see me. To see her son.  
"Well?" She wasn't looking. She wasn't seeing. I would have to make her look, then. Didn't I?  
"Dead."  
My answer rang out across the room, an undeniable undertone of madness lacing my voice which made me sound a lot more attractive, I think. My mother decided this was a worthy reason to slowly put down what she was doing and look up at me. Hilarious. Had you been there in that very moment...you would have laughed too.  
Sometimes you can't help but watch as the horrified faces turn towards you and you think, what have I done?  
But did I regret it? No, not for the reasons you may think. What I would end up regretting was my future. My mother dropped her sewing as she let out a scream. She saw the blood. I looked down at the red splats and smears on my clothes.  
"Red looks good on me. Doesn't it?" I couldn't help but laugh. What a happy coincidence that blood was also the color that has proven itself worthy of being my favorite--and therefore the best color. My mother's scream filled me, thrilled me. She finally noticed me.  
My father hurried into the room and grabbed me hard by the arm.  
"What did you do to your mot--" he, too, noticed the red freckles that did not belong to my skin. He dragged his finger over my clavicle smearing the blood over more of my clean skin. "Whose is this?"  
It was a demand. I did not have a choice to tell him. I would tell him.  
And that was that.  
"Dirk."  
"Your...brother?" His grip slackened. My mother had fallen to her knees, wailing.  
"He killed his brother!"  
"Oh...precious died? How unfortunate. Excuse me." I tore my arm away from my flabbergasted father. "I must mourne in a solitary style." I turned to leave the room when something hit me over the head. I felt a sharp but dull stinging in the base of my neck before falling over against the end table.  
I saw red...then black.  
When I awoke I was in a prison cell. In holding. I was in a metal room full of people who did not seem terribly scary. I was definitely the scariest person in the room.  
Hah.  
I sat up firmly against the wall and stared the wall opposite of me down.  
I waited.  
Eventually I was called out, told my lawyer was there.  
I wouldn't dare get into this boring lawyer crap. Firstly because it's boring. Secondly because it's crap. And lastly because I have no idea what happened...and I was there.  
Just know it landed me in court. Also, know that when I got to court, handcuffed, I stared down the audience there to witness my downfall. Not that there was a peak to my career anyways...  
My mother and father were sitting right behind the table--but in front of the audience-- where the lawyer sat next to my brother. He had bandages around his neck under that hideous brace and in that moment I greatly regretted not using bullets.  
He wouldn't even die! Nothing I do works. I am a fucking genius though, this doesn't make sense. I swore to kill him...even if it killed me.  
I wouldn't dare get into the whole boring court crap either. For the exact same reasons as the boring lawyer crap.  
Just know it ended with me pleading insanity and it worked.  
And just know that the institution was a worse fate than the prison could ever be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's Point of View

Dave Strider? Sure. I was playing cards with Jake when he came in.  
Well, it went more like this:  
The cheap smell of plastic flitted through my nostrils, though the severity of the smell had definitely subsided throughout my visit. The cards were also cheap, but they were a personal deck Jake had given me for Hanukkah. Where he got them? I never found out, but if I had to guess I would say he either regifted them or lifted them from the activity room.  
He never said it aloud but I was certain he felt some sort of emotion about me never getting visitors. I would say I felt bad about the attention he gave me, but it'd be a lie. It was nice when someone cared for you after so long of no one being there. Even if it was out of pity.  
The door clanked, an ignorable sound. We continued our game. Then the noise became too much. We looked over at the door where three men surrounded a boy, about my age. They were the same men--but then everyone looked the same around here-- that escorted Jake and I in when we first arrived. Which meant that boy was dangerous. Even more so than some of the other patients, but not enough to go to a higher security institution. His blond hair was almost as white as his skin, and his eyes appeared more red than brown...it was creepy.  
From the moment I first saw Dave Strider I knew I would have to avoid him. He wore the cocky grin of someone who knew something, a grin of someone on the inside looking out.  
I didn't know what he was in for but I would soon. There was a patient named Rye who impossibly got his hands on people's records. Rumors of that person would circulate for around two or three days then things would go back to the boring routine of an institution at work.  
I had a feeling that with Dave it would be different, but of course I didn't quite yet know his name. No one would talk about him. No one would dare. The guards decided that Dave was fine where he was and left. He looked around the room, seeing everyone was looking at him. His cocky grin turned to something more...something darker.  
He slowly walked through the room, each step bringing him closer to Jake and I. I prepared myself to stab his eye out with a playing card. He leaned over Jake and raised his eyes to me.  
"What are we playing?"  
Innocent curiosity. What was wrong with that?  
"Crazy eights." Jake answered for me.  
"Teach me how." He sat down.  
"How about after this hand?" Jake suggested. "It's just that we only merely beg--" Dave brought his hand up to Jake's cards that were moving in large gestures in Jake's hand. He held onto the top of them, gently. Threatening. He smiled.  
"How about now?"  
I could tell Jake was alarmed. He nodded and told me to shuffle. I did so. Then I dealt.  
"Names?" It was more of a demand than anything.  
"I'm Jake and that's John." He jabbed a thumb towards me as he said my name. "And yourself?"  
"Dave. How long have you been in here?"  
"We have been here for a year now."  
"Both of you?" This time he looked towards me for an answer. But Jake's voice still rang true.  
"Yes. We came here together."  
"Let...John here speak." He paused as if remembering my name. If he was half as smart as he claimed to be it wasn't really a problem. He was just putting on a show.  
"John doesn't really do that."  
"Why?" His voice went flat, and I knew right away I would end up having to speak. "Say something." He leaned close and his eyes bore into me.  
"Play your move." It was a demand. My voice was hoarse and it broke once, but the words were strong. I hoped. He leaned back with a sarcastic smile.  
"But ol' mighty one...you haven't taught me how to play."  
"Maybe if you hadn't forced us to start a new game you could have picked up on the rules by watching us play." He glared at me. He stood and kicked his chair out from under him. Keep in mind those things were designed to be difficult to move. They were very heavy. Yet it went sprawling across the floor, attracting the attention of everyone in the room.  
"Listen here. I make the rules. You are insignificant. Mind how you talk to the people abov--" his words were cut short. I'd taken the shank I made from my old toothbrush and took a jab at his face. Meaning I stabbed as hard as I could. He dodged it but was still bleeding along the side of his cheek and at his ear.  
"Ohh no. You didn't just do that." He pushing me to the floor knocking the chair across the room, much like his own. He got down and pinned me to the floor, taking me by the throat. Breathing admittedly became much more difficult. I clawed at his hands, but the crazy son of a bitch really didn't seem to care. I reached for the shank again but before I could get a hold of it my head went too light and I could no longer control my body.  
Finally someone in that God forsaken building decided the safety of their patients was probably something they should be concerned about. Only maybe, though. No rush. A large guard pulled the blond off of me and I rolled over, immediately, gasping for breath and protecting my body.  
"You crazy son of a bitch!"  
"Hey...there's a reason I'm in here." I looked back up at him. He was leaning towards me, arms held behind his back. His hair was stuck to his face on one side by the blood. He was smiling a crazy smile. In that moment I would swear on the bible to a room full of people that his eyes were red. Red with madness. Red with the color of blood I am sure he made people spill.  
There was no longer any doubt in my mind.  
Those eyes would be the last thing I would ever see.  
Jake helped me to my feet. He hugged me and swore into my ear that he would "get that fucker back for what he did". We would do it together. We were always together. We would always be together.  
It was me and him against the world.  
Then all the sudden, out of nowhere, it was me and him against Dave Strider.


End file.
